Plans
by Kinar Shadeslayer
Summary: None too pleased with the Lich King's growing power, the Burning Legion has begun to stir. Their forces have fought with renewed strength and vigor, the Gan'arg as sharp and witty as ever before. The fire burning in their eyes, scream impending doom . . .


Dominion (C1)

After the Frozen Throne

The room was lit dimly, Talgath not needing any more light then a fish would need water. A desk, made to accomodate Talgath's momentous 20 height frame was all the room really held. The underground walls were bear but for dirt which was an abundence in Dil'gemar.

The Eredar did not even use a chair, prefering to stand while doing his work. Becoming seated made the Eredar feel vulnerable, which he despised with every fibre of his being. Sitting was like surrendering, lowering yourself to your superiors, begging, just like those cowardly pathetic sniveling Gan'arg creatures.

Although he may not like it, the recent induction of the gan'arg had most likely been an intelligent move. They were a short, hooded, stunted Mo'arg. Not competent in any form of combat really. They had their uses although. Their undying quest to tinker and invent new devices was an eccentric quailty they shared with the Gnomes. Another quality the wretched creatures shared with the Gnomes was their meager height. They also smelled horrible.

Auspicity, dedication, affluency and their flare for engineering were all that made the Gan'arg. And stupidity at times. The short creatures were hardly fit to be called demons because of their carelessness. At one time, a Gan'arg who had an aptitude for explosives, demolished half of Gragog, or Invasion Point: Hate as it was known to the lesser mortal races. Needless to say, Talgath would have liked to be the one that slit his throat.

Draenor was none of Talgath's concern however, much to his disliking. Dil'gemar was, and what the place studied. Dil'gemar was a remote outpost, hardly any of the Burning Legion knew of its existence. Archimonde had ordered its construction years ago, before Talgath had been assigned this job. Or a waste of time if you asked him. Its purpose prelude Archimonde's sudden and shocking demise was a back up stronghold. In case of the unlikely event the Burning Legion had been crippled, and needed to bide their time.

Unfortunately, Kil'jaeden had thought up an even more boring agenda to use the place after the Field Commander perished, and immediately found the thing for Talgath to do. Talgath had been . . out of job for months after his discovery of Draenor. Kil'jaeden assigned him the commander of this place, and to delve into other means to destroy disregarding open warfare. He had been assigned to create a weapon. A subtle weapon that could finally cripple Azeroth and render the planet naught but barren and ash, as it should have been a few years ago. Talgath was in charge of developing this, and Argus was the perfect place for it.

The Eredar could not argue that Argus couldn't be a perfect place. Having been abandoned when Sargeras gave Archimonde and Kil'jaedon the proposition. The planet was a desolate planet now, no plant life or anything else to interact with. The formerly lifeless planet was perfect for anything to remain secret.

The single thing Talgath had strongly disagreed with however was his assigning to here. It would have been very possible that he could overthrow Kil'jaedon's order and become a heretic. But in short, the plan would be redundant as he had not the support, nor resources to contend with the higher Eredar. And even if they did accept him, the realigning of the Legions forces and the change of commanders and tactics would throw the legion into chaos. And the mortals, or Arthas would overcome them shortly.

Sighing with frustration he glanced away from the books to the dirt wall. At least the dirt was something interesting to look at, he thought vacantly. It was blue in color, a startling light blue, almost matching some of the draenic skin colors. The dirt glinted and sparkled, despite the lack of light in the room. Which was puzzled Talgath most. Hell, the dirt gave off the most light in the room.

A slight frown furthered his marred face as he returned his sickly enchanted eyes to the large book in front of him. The minor light produced by his eyes illuminated the book in a light hue of green. He stared at it blankly for a moment before deciding to end his reading. He decided at a convienent time, as a Mo'arg entered the room.

Talgath lowered his eyes almost lazily to the being that had decided to invade his privacy. He belived the Mo'arg to have been entitled the name 'The Maker' and was one of the higher scientists under his command. Despite being a scientist, the Mo'arg was fairly adequate in combat.

Being broad shouldered, and having amputated some of his body parts for machinery, the Maker, as well as many other Mo'arg were rather fearsome. To some of the lower mortals anyway.

Talgath let out a grunt, before asking in Demonic. "Well, what is it you seek Mo'arg?" Generally he should have adressed him as his proper title, but Talgath was not one to stand on ceremony, hence he disregarded the rules as easily as one would a nail.

The Mo'arg was unnerved by the Eredar, which was fairly impressive. Speaking in his odd low voice he grunted quietly. "We have completed it." Talgath raised a brow, or what could be considered an Eredar brow.

"Have we now? And what are the results?"

"It would be best if you saw them for yourself instead of my explaining." The Maker replied calm in his voice, void of any feeling.

The results must have been fairly decent, for him not to be trembling Talgath thought maliciously. The last demon that entered this room bearing news of an incompetent and malfuctional experiement had never left the room. The blood still coated the wall.

Raising his head higher he said quietly. "Very well." Folding the book on the tale to its cover page he approached the doorway.

The Mo'arg ducked out of the 'door' or rather hole in the wall, as the Eredar advanced upon him. Talgath had to duck slightly to avoid a collision with the ceiling, to his disatifaction. He had ordered a Gan'arg to heighten that yesterday. His mouth curved slightly at the edges once he thought the discipline he would entail to the creature.

The hallway that led from his room was not all that long, about 70 feet. Demons were not interested in decorating, hence the hallway was darker then his room, only the blue dirt illuminating it. He strolled along it, his hooves sinking into the thousands upon thousands of small particles of dirt. The Mo'arg had slight trouble keeping up with him.

Having no risk of clocking his head upon the ceiling he stepped out into what many consider the center Dil'gemar. Or 'The Starport' as it as more commonly known. Talgath was not aware on how the place had aqquired its rather interesting name, yet it stuck. Majority of the Dil'gemar's population uttering the word with carelessness.

The Starport was a huge place of manufacturing and work. Here is where everything took place. The room was huge to begin with, being nearly 100 feet in diameter and topping nearly 100 feet. If you dug approxomately ten feet down from the surface, you would break through the cieling, and have a rather long fall to your death. Luckily the room, and the rest of the remote outpost, feared no collapse do the incredible density the Argus dirt had attained. That and it had been bound with innumerable spells to prevent such an event.

It was divided into quarters, a small river of sick green bile representing the lines that seperated it. The quarter that he himself had entered was considered the Mechanical area.

This is where majority of the mechanic technologies the Gan'arg made were manufactured and sometimes . . tested. A large explosion coming from his left seemed to emphasize that point. His eyes flickered with extreme annoyance as they viewed a Gan'arg screaming as the fire spiraled along his body, the licking flames almost reaching to its head. Normally he wouldn't have cared, but it was disturbing the others.

He turned his head away from the 'demon' and viewed several of the creatures attaching several metallic pieces to wfhat resembled a rocket. Shaking his head he began to make for the quarter adjacent to this one. The soil in the Machine Quarter was soft, black, and partially ash. His hooves sunk into the ground more so as a result of this.

As he stepped over the river of bile, approxomately 2 feet in width by his reckoning, he entered to the Biological quarter. He frowned as he came in, a dull tremor passing through his body as he stepped through.

This quarter had been imbued with certain wards to prevent any shrapnel from the explosive area behind him from entering this area. Unlike the ugly black metal from where he had previously been, these devices and containers were more attractive. Not that it mattered to him, as his hooves pounded upon the cleaner dirt of this area.

Glancing around he noted that everyone. Gan'arg and Mo'arg were avoiding his gaze, pretending to be hard at work at whatever their assignment was to do. His mind took a sick pleasure from this as he approached the area.

The place he approached he approached had encompassed a putrid smell as that of the burning flesh of those . . Kaldorei. The cause of this was a large pool of the same green liquid dividing the quaraters up although a tint lighter in color. The pool was approxomately seven feet in diameter, and only about five feet deep. It had been constructed of an odd blue material, similar to the plentiful dirt surrounding them. He growled as The Maker came up behind him. Until now, he had forgotten all about the trailing Mo'arg.

"What exactly am I susposed to be looking at demon." He growled, looking at him evidently not too pleased with waiting.

The amputated creature glanced up at him, and then looked meaningly at a Gan'arg standing nearby, who was watching them warily. Jumping the Gan'arg ran his stubby figures over a few keys quickly, and the large tub of water drained away slipping through the many holes in the tank as they were opened. This process was silent.

A small creature, no larger then the Eredar's hand, squirmed beneath in this tub.

The creature was . . an incredible tint of white. Almost as white as the pale undead the Lich King commanded. It had almost human characteristics, a small fuzz of brown fur on the top of what he assumed to be his head. He had a hard time distunguishing what was what as it writhed eagerly. The Eredar stared at the creature greedily.

"Yes . ." He breathed, his eyes widening. "You are perfect . ."


End file.
